


there's a boy who is so wonderful

by stereosymbiosis



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Hangover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereosymbiosis/pseuds/stereosymbiosis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You open your eyes and he’s looking right at you, and his glasses are pressed up so stupidly against his face, but he looks so earnest.  You close your eyes. You feel like you don’t deserve to look at someone so beautiful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's a boy who is so wonderful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TereziMakara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TereziMakara/gifts).



> for the prompt: "Total flushed fluff with these two. Maybe Jake helping her get over a hangover with snuggles on the couch. Something cute!"
> 
> rated T for language. **tentative emetophobia warning** , in that characters deal with the aftermath of heavy drinking, although the worst of it is an upset stomach. enjoy!

There is a throbbing in your head, starting behind your eyes and radiating through your skull. This isn’t exactly a new feeling, but someone left the light on, and since when was that tiny little lamp brighter than the fucking sun? You squeeze your eyes shut resolutely. That’s better. At least you’re on the couch this time instead of waking up in a pile of blankets on the floor. And now that you think about it, you’re pretty sure that _you_ left the light on.

“Unnnnngh,” you say with your usual eloquence, and you cast your arm around for a leftover bottle on the coffee table. Since you don’t want to open your eyes, or really move, you’re not that successful. You realize it’s probably not a good idea to ingest even more alcohol, but your mouth feels like sandpaper and you need something to make it feel less abso-fucking-lutely disgusting. Your fingertips finally graze something glass, and you grasp the neck of bottle and shake, but there’s nothing in it to slosh around. Figures. Past-Roxy should have been more considerate of Present-Roxy, but she never is.

You set the bottle back down on the table with a little more force than you intended and it clatters loudly, ah fuck, that’s loud. You’re not surprised that the bottle is empty. You drink a lot. A lot more than a sixteen-year-old should drink, probably, but your sample size of fellow sixteen-year-olds is hardly big enough to convince you.

“Roxy? Are you awake?”

“Blaaargh,” you say in response, pulling your blanket over your head and burrowing into the couch cushion. The couch dips next to you, and a warm hand caresses your shoulder through the blanket.

“You had one heck of a rolicking good time last night, that’s for sure,” Jake says with a little chuckle. He’s not talking any louder than he usually does, but for some reason it feels like he’s shouting. There is a hammer inside your head, you’re sure of it, there’s nothing else that could be clattering around in there and bouncing off your skull every time you hear any sound louder than a whisper.

“Jake, Jake, Jakey-Jake,” you say, trying to sound as pitiful as you possibly can, and it turns out you don’t have to try really hard at all. Your voice is croaky from the hangover and overnight disuse. You shrug the blanket onto your shoulders and Jake’s hand stills, hovering over your shoulder. Your fingers crawl up his arm, past his shoulder and onto his face. You press your index finger against his lips and whisper, “Shh. No loud noises.” Then you grab his hand and pull it up to your own face, which probably seems weird, but lol, whatever. It occurs to you that you might still be a little drunk.

You guide his thumb to the bridge of your nose and press it hard into your skin, pushing his thumb along the underside of your eyebrow, and you have to do it again a couple times before he gets the hint. Jake adjusts next to you, but your eyes are still clamped tight so it’s a bit of a surprise when his other hand comes down on the other side of your nose and he presses into the pressure points on both sides of your face simultaneously.

You make a keening sound that would probably be embarrassing in any normal circumstance, but Jake just presses harder and oh sweet baby jegus, the pounding in your head doesn’t exactly go away but it is relieved somewhat, at least. You grab Jake’s arm and squeeze it to encourage him, and you hear him laugh under his breath as he continues massaging your face. He’s so warm, you can feel his hip pressed against yours through the blanket, and even though you kind of feel sweaty and disgusting you could really use some more of that warmth. You tug at his arm, wordlessly, but this time he seems to understand what you want anyway. He swings his legs up next to yours on the couch and presses his warm body against you.

He’s massaging your temples now, softly pressing two of his fingers into the pressure points. He slows down gradually, and ends up just resting the pads of his fingers gently on your skin. You’re just about to nudge him back into action when he presses his lips against yours instead.

It’s a nice feeling, even though your mouth feels disgusting and your head has something clanking around in there. Jake pulls back and rests his forehead against yours and kisses your nose (so gently, god, he’s so fucking cute you’re gonna die).

“Jake, I can’t believe you just kissed me with hangover breath,” you say incredulously into his shoulder, trying to direct your bad breath out of the way of his nose.

“Why wouldn’t I want to kiss a slick chick such as yourself?” he says, and from anyone else that would sound kind of weird, but he just makes it so cute that it’s not fair.

“Are you feeling alright, Roxy?” he asks quietly, and he presses his thumb into your temple again and it’s unbelievable how that relieves the pressure in your head. It’s like he knows that you don’t want to talk about feelings unless you have something to distract you. “You were really tight as a boiled owl last night. To be frank, I was a little worried!”

“Tight as a -- what?” You don’t understand this kid half the time but, god, he’s so cute when he gets incomprehensible. “I’m okay, Jakey. Just, you know...stuff.”

“Stuff?” he repeats, and you can hear him enunciate it with special care. You can’t help but think that word sounds hella weird coming out of his mouth, like somehow his old-man vocabulary doesn’t accommodate for a word so unspecific as “stuff.” You almost start to giggle, but your stomach rolls and you think it’s best to just not do anything.

“You know. Stuff. Things. Et cetera.” Yep, that really explained it. You kind of drop your head onto his shoulder and take a deep breath to calm your stomach.

“Well, Roxy, if you ever have a dilemma that can’t be solved by firewater, you know I’m here, right?”

You open your eyes and he’s looking right at you, and his glasses are pressed up so stupidly against his face, but he looks so earnest. You close your eyes. You feel like you don’t deserve to look at someone so beautiful.

“I know, Jakey,” you say.

The thing is, you still don’t really know how to share. You grew up isolated and alone, and Jake did too, kinda, but his capacity for empathy is still astounding to you sometimes. You want to tell him what’s on your mind, but it still feels so fucking weird not being separated by four hundred years and a computer screen. Your emotions, your problems, your embarrassments are so amplified and so obvious in person, and that makes it all that much harder to talk about them.

But Jake just finds your hand with his, and twines your fingers together, and you know it doesn’t matter. Maybe one day you’ll catch up to him, or maybe you never will, but right now all that matters is getting over this goddamn hangover.


End file.
